


Come A Little Closer

by Stripes (LeatherandStripes)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeatherandStripes/pseuds/Stripes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 11:43pm, and in two minutes he won't have to pretend like he's working on anything and can just drink and watch the band. He watches them take the stage just as the waitress brings him another drink, and tries not to be irritated through their sound check. Because in 45 seconds it'll all be worth it.</p>
<p>Because Axel's singing voice is pretty much the most attractive thing he's ever heard.</p>
<p>Not that he would ever admit that.</p>
<p>(aka: what started as a random hook up turned into something else entirely. And no amount of Roxas denying it is going to change that fact.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/12/2016:  
> Hot damn.  
> Hey guys. I haven't abandoned this, I promise. Currently working on the next chapter and trying to wade through life the best that I can.   
> Your amazing comments and support give me life, and I am diligently working on the next part. Thank you all so much for bearing with me.

**xxx**

In his defense, it'd been dark. And he'd been drunk.

Really drunk.

The party hadn't been his idea, but apparently a few of his friends felt that he was too much of a shut-in because he was actually trying to graduate on time. And somehow they'd managed to get him in a car and carted across campus, even though he's pretty sure he'd been kicking and screaming the whole way. Not literally, of course.

The house was crappy, but not unlivable; cramped, but only because the equivalent of an entire lecture hall had been shoved into the little two-story tudor home at the edge of campus. He'd barely known anyone there, and once they were there Hayner and the others had promptly ditched him in favor of girlfriends and boyfriends, so lucky him was left alone in the crowd, making wonderful decisions about the number of jell-o shots necessary to make the party bearable.

Before he knew it, some random guy from some class he didn't remember ever taking roped Roxas into beer pong, and really, that was the beginning of the end. He wasn't bad, but his partner was already sloshed which just made life much more difficult for him as the game progressed, which, to his utter humiliation, ended with him stumbling back into some guy.

Well, okay, not _some_ guy. _The_ guy.

He'd pushed away from the other, wiping beer away from his chin and the front of his shirt from the spilt cup before there was a pair of too green eyes in front of his, staring at him with a lucidity that shouldn't have been possible with the practically visible stench of alcohol radiating off him. It gave him pause, if only for a moment, before that stupid smirk the guy had grew wider. Roxas had rolled his eyes at him, frown creasing the space between his eyebrows. "Thanks for the assist, now back off."

"Chill out, Blondie," thin fingers plucked the red solo cup from Roxas' hand, casually tossing it over his shoulder. "Hey, aren't you a little young to be drinkin'?"

Roxas' eyes narrowed, actually looking at the amazingly green-eyed moron in front of him.

Jesus fucking Christ, his hair was red. And not red like 'oh hey, I thought I'd try to be a ginger for a spell', but raw-ass-red. He pulled a face at the imagery he'd provided himself with. "Aren't you a little short to be a Storm Trooper?" he shot back, jabbing a finger into the much taller guy's chest.

Shit, he was really grinning now. The redhead's hand closed around his wrist, tugging Roxas closer with minimal effort and practically breathing tequila fumes against his cheek, "You quoting Star Wars at me, Blondie?"

Roxas nearly gagged. Everyone has a tequila story. His just happened to involve an impromptu trip to Mexico, a bathtub, and a questionable burrito, but that's an entirely different story.

Instead, he straightened his posture and put on his best half-drunken smirk. "And what if I am?"

The other just stared for a moment, and Roxas wasn't sure if he was trying to figure something out or if he'd just zoned out for a moment because of the alcohol he'd consumed. "C'mon, there's more fun to be had."

Roxas caught the smile spreading over the guy's face before he was pulled out of the room, bursting every space bubble he came into contact with as he was literally dragged down a hallway or five, through what may have been a kitchen or a brothel, and into a room full of sweaty college students and alcohol. The redhead sat him down, hands lingering a fraction of a second too long against the nape of Roxas' neck, and someone handed him a drink. Which he drank, because he was making all sorts of great decisions tonight. He watched green eyes watching him across the sloppy circle of party goers and looked away, feeling himself flush against his better judgment. Because, really, what was with this guy and his psychotic hair and piercing eyes and tequila breath and-

"You're up, Blondie."

-yeah, his voice was sort of amazing too, in that stupid husky way…wait…

"Huh?" he intelligently slurred, eyes snapping back to the redhead and following his gaze to the bottle of God-knew-what in the middle of the circle.

Shit.

He'd done this kind of thing before, albeit a lot more sober and with a group of people he had some recollection of meeting at one point or another. It was nothing. Spin, kiss, move on. Roxas leaned forward, taking the bottle between his fingers just at the base of the neck and spinning. And waiting as the glass slowed to a stop, pointing at his lucky match for the next ten seconds.

The girl was cute enough. She shuffled forward on her knees, probably ripping holes in her tights as she did, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Endearing. Cute. The kiss was short and sweet and was met with whistles and hollers from the rest of the group. But so was every kiss.

It continued on like that, the group getting louder with each poured drink. Roxas had racked up a few kisses; a nice girl, a cute hipster boy, a party girl. When the bottle stopped in front of him this time he found the redhead staring at him, eyes far greener than they should have been, and the once dormant smirk awakened. He looked down at the bottle, and back to the other, who was now standing as a few loud whistles turned into clapping.

"Get it, Axel!" some blond guy in a corner was yelling over the other catcalls. Huh. Axel. Weird ass name for a weird ass guy.

Then Roxas felt himself pale. Or blush. He wasn't entirely sure which, but Axel was standing above him, grin bordering on maniacal, and hand extended out toward him. And Roxas was sort of screaming at himself as he saw his own hand take Axel's, pushing up off the floor. It was just a kiss. A stupid kiss because of a stupid game.

But Axel didn't kiss him. Instead, he pulled him out of the room. Roxas could barely hear the obnoxious cheer that broke out because the heartbeat in his ears was drowning everything out. And Axel was smiling over his shoulder at him, pulling him toward the end of a hallway. And what was probably a closet. Great.

Fuck.

With the door shut behind them, he could barely see anything. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for them to adjust and trying to take a moment to rationalize that he might get molested by Pipi Longstocking. So much for good decisions.

He sighed, opening his eyes, ready to lay down the law if he had to-

Axel's lips were soft. The kiss was gentle, chaste even. And it was over almost as soon as it began.

"Sorry 'bout forcibly draggin' you in here. Thought it'd make for a good show."

Roxas, once again, found himself just staring at this ridiculous man in front of him. Not even a man, a boy. A guy. Just some guy with red spiky hair and the most upsettingly beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen, who reeked of tequila and smiled too openly.

He reached out, tucking a strand of unruly blond hair behind Roxas' ear, "You can go back out now. I was hopin' for a kiss. Thanks."

It was dark. And he was drunk.

He felt himself move forward, a hand brushing over Axel's shoulder and pulling him down a few inches so their lips could meet. The lips against his parted slightly, and he could almost taste the alcohol. Roxas felt Axel's hands fall to his hips and tense for a moment before smoothing over the material, almost hesitant, but Roxas pressed forward and Axel seemed to have forgotten to be timid. He heard himself moan in the back of his throat as a hand slid over his lower back, the other finding its way to the nape of his neck. Axel's tongue traced over his bottom lip before Roxas nipped it playfully. And apparently Axel liked that.

Roxas stumbled back against the wall, pulling Axel with him, lips working feverishly against the other pair, everything blurring to teeth and tongues and wandering hands. He was feeling dizzy, and he knew it wasn't because of the alcohol. Axel tasted like…cinnamon. Cinnamon, tequila, and an underlying tang of cigarettes, and as much as Roxas loathed it, he wanted more. And he didn't even know why. He didn't know this man. At all. And here he was, gripping him like a vice and kissing him like he needed it to survive. At this point, he was pretty sure he did.

Axel's mouth was at his neck, lips ghosting over Roxas' ear, making unintelligible sounds when the blond rocked their hips together. "Y'don't play fair, Blondie," Axel purred against the hollow of Roxas' throat. His fingers slipped lower, underneath the elastic of the blond's boxers, pressing their bodies flush.

My, how this had escalated quickly.

Roxas was vaguely aware that he was breathing erratically, Axel catching every embarrassing sound the blond made in his mouth. He was also vaguely aware that someone was pounding on the door, rudely interrupting his dry humping session with his-

Okay, maybe he wasn't as drunk as he should have been.

Or maybe he was. Because Axel had ripped the door open, yelling something at that loud blond guy from earlier, who really wasn't getting the hint and was just standing there whining about some shit that Roxas couldn't care less about because _really._ But Axel turned back to Roxas and kissed him again, long and hard before leaving the closet and stumbling down the hallway with his friend in tow.

He stared at the mass of red hair as it disappeared from his view, the warmth that had been entirely his a minute before gone. What the fuck. Okay, so he didn't know the guy and they'd kissed. Yeah, okay, it was a party, they were playing spin the bottle, they were drinking, whatever. Fine. But…shit, he'd _kissed_ him, hadn't he? Like it wasn't a random hook up. And the longer Roxas thought about it, the more he realized it wasn't. Because there was something about him, and he had no fucking idea what it was, but there was something that he knew he _needed._ And that thought was really irritating.

And that's how he ended up sitting in the back of this shitty lounge. Alone. On a Wednesday night, eyes pretending to scan homework that he finished hours ago. Because he's definitely not being a total stalker and definitely hasn't been for the past eleven days.

Because it's 11:43pm, and in two minutes he won't have to pretend like he's working on anything and can just drink and watch the band. He watches them take the stage just as the waitress brings him another drink, and tries not to be irritated through their sound check. Because in 45 seconds it'll all be worth it.

Because Axel's singing voice is pretty much the most attractive thing he's ever heard.

Not that he would ever admit that.

**xxx**


	2. Crushed

There are four guys in the band, hideously known as 'Flameo and the Hotmen'. Yeah, he thought it was a joke too. It's not. He thinks he should think 'people' instead of 'guys' because of the girl on keyboard, but she seems like she's got a bigger pair than the blond on guitar, so he sticks with 'guys'. They're really a strange assortment of people, if he's completely honest with himself, and Axel is probably the most sane. Which is saying something.

The blond guitarist is named Demyx, or at least that's what the band's facebook page says because, again, not a stalker. Just researching. And, according to research and observation, Demyx and Axel have been best friends since pretty much ever, but that doesn't mean that they don't act like they hate each other like a bitter old couple. Which they aren't. He checked. Roxas gets the feeling that Demyx is very much trying to go for some sort of punk rock look, but got distracted by a beach bum and decided to just fuse the two. And, shockingly, it sort of works for him. Even the faux-hawk. Demyx just also happens to be that loud blond moron from the party that broke up his little adventure in the closet. Not that Roxas is resentful or anything.

Their drummer is a surly guy with blue hair and a wicked scowl, and Roxas has never heard him speak in the past week and a half he's been visiting the lounge, but he imagines it would be terrifying, mainly because he's seen how berserk the guy goes when drumming. He goes by Saïx, and without a doubt hates everything. Well, except maybe his bandmates. On occasion.

The blond girl on keyboard is, in a word, a bitch. And really, he means that in the nicest possible way because she is loud and catty and has bitch slapped nearly everyone in the band six times. But she's pretty, sings well, and the other guys probably deserve it. Okay, so maybe she's not a bitch. He makes a mental note that Larxene is not a bitch.

And then there's Axel, being all stupid and beautiful with his fitted dark jeans and gray v-neck shirt that covers four of the eight tattoos he's seen inked onto the redhead's arms at various points over the past eleven days. With his stupid hair that looks like he dunks his head in hair gel and then jumps on a motorcycle and races down the street so that it just stays that way. Roxas really wouldn't put it past him. The guy has two little tattoos on his face, so seriously, he might do anything.

_Oblivion_ is a quarter mile off campus and Roxas thinks whoever named the lounge was trying to go for something mysterious and sexy when in reality it just sounds emo. And really, if they were trying to go for sexy, they should have steered clear of Flameo and the Hotmen because they play the exact opposite of lounge music. They are loud and nothing near ambient and the sexiest you could get to any of their songs would be if you were having a seizure in the middle of the dance floor and happened to rub against a few people on your way to the floor. But really, they're not bad.

And Roxas maintains it has nothing to do with Axel as their singer.

He feels pathetic about his not-stalking the redhead. Not because he's stalking, which he's pretty sure everyone and their grandmother would agree that yes he is, but because of how good at not-stalking he's become. He takes the same table in the back corner every night, spreads his papers and notebooks out, orders a rum and coke, followed by an amaretto sour, and waits. Roxas probably feels the most pathetic because Axel hasn't noticed him yet. Which is extremely irritating considering he's been not-stalking him every night the band has played since he found their schedule on facebook.

The first time he showed up it was really just to see if he had been completely hallucinating about the redheaded stranger at the party. He hadn't been, and seeing Axel sober almost made everything worse because he was still a total moron, too sly for his own good, and ridiculously gorgeous. He kept coming back every night because maybe he would see him, recognize him, finish what he'd started, anything. Roxas didn't know why, and that continued to piss him off each night that he came back.

Which is why he's still sitting at his table, books neatly organized back in his laptop bag, easily five drinks under the table, and silently begging for emerald eyes to find his because this is their last song of the night.

And that's exactly when they do.

Hayner is, what Roxas likes to call, a terrific cockblock. He means well, and ever since Roxas came out at the end of high school has been nothing but supportive and held the spot of wingman. Unfortunately, that's a major part of the problem. Not to mention his timing is atrocious.

So Roxas is in the middle of his chick flick moment, Axel is on the last line of their only ballad, eyes fixed on his across the room. Time stands still, all that amazing shit. Enter Hayner.

"You queer little _slut_!" the other slams his hands on the table, grin perched on his face as he blocks Roxas' view of Axel entirely. Not that he would admit he was staring.

Okay, maybe he would. That's not the point.

Hayner pulls out a chair, eyes too wide and excited for any decent human being after 1am. "How dare you not tell me about your closet love affair. For shame, Rox. And here I was, thinking we were bosom buddies and shared everything."

Well, this is certainly unexpected. "I'm sorry, did you just say closet love affair?"

"Olette heard from Namine who heard from Riku that you were fucking around in a closet at the party last week." Hayner shakes his head, eyes still gleaming. "The audacity! Was it anyone I know?"

Shit. "Does Sora know?"

Wrong answer. The other blond's face lights up like a Roman Candle. "So you _were_ gettin' freaky!"

"No not…not _freaky_ , Hayner," Roxas sits back in his chair, pressing a hand over his eyes with a deep sigh. "It was nothing. Like, a literal no-thing. We were drinking and…" God, this is incredibly pathetic when he has to say it out loud. "Seriously, does Sora know?"

"Ohhhh he knows. Riku told him _everything_ from what I understand," Hayner leans forward, taking the partially drained glass in front of Roxas and throws the remainder back. "You know, if we cramp your lifestyle, we can always get out of your hair and let you cut loose. I didn't know you had it in you, Roxas. Frankly, I'm impressed."

Roxas feels the color rise in his cheeks, wanting desperately to punch his best friend hard enough to dislocate his overused jaw. "You guys are the ones that ditched _me_! I wouldn't have even gone if-"

"No excuses. It happened. YOLO."

That's it, Roxas is definitely going to beat the shit out of the other the moment they leave Oblivion.

"So what's his name?"

"Doesn't matter," Roxas can't help his eyes following the redhead across the room as he jumps off the stage, unplugging cords and shoving Demyx back into his amp. "It was a one-time deal."

"Is that what he said?" Hayner has to be blocking Roxas' view on purpose because this is ridiculous. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

Hayner turns then and Roxas is really hoping he doesn't put two and two together, but considering that this is _Hayner_ he's feeling pretty confident that he'll never figure it out. "You checking out the band? Window shopping again, and so soon after your little tryst in the closet?"

"Please go die."

"That's harsh Rox, and completely not your style." He turns again, following Roxas' gaze. "Seriously, what're-"

Okay, maybe Roxas isn't being as not-stalkery as he thinks he is because Hayner is grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Holy shit, you fucked the band."

Roxas throws his head back against the wall, covering his face with his hands and practically screaming into them.

"Well, now, not the _whole_ band. You're not into the gangbang scene, are you? No, you're a one-man kinda man."

" _Hayner."_

"Now, to find which one…you don't like blonds, so the guitarist is out. The chick is definitely out seeing as she's blond and you…you know, like dick." To his credit, Hayner does yelp when Roxas kicks him under the table. "How about Red, over there?"

Apparently Roxas' split second of silence is enough to give Hayner an answer.

"Hey, Red!"

And this is the moment Roxas wishes he were dead. "Hayner, don't you fucking _dare_."

"What, I just wanna talk to him, no biggie. I wanna know who my bestie's been messing around with, that's all. Yeah, Red. Talking to you, big guy."

Axel tilts his head to the side, half way through pulling his hair back into a ponytail but crosses the room just the same, a small smile gracing his lips. "You rang?"

Hayner swings himself around in the chair, leaning back and looking up at the redhead with a grin. "You…you are just enormous."

This is not happening because Roxas, to his knowledge, has never evoked the wrath of any deity and that was the only way anything this horrible could be happening right now. He's too drunk, obviously he is too drunk and this is clearly a staged intervention to prove to him that he needs to stop drinking entirely or stupid, embarrassing shit is going to continuously happen to him.

"Well, thank you. Honestly, you're not exactly my type, but I'm flattered. Here for the fans. All five of them," Axel lets out a little laugh and Roxas is really trying to blend into the wall at his back and not let the butterflies in his stomach consume him.

"You're not mine either, trust me. But uh," Hayner shoots a sly grin at Roxas across the table, "what would you say your type is, pray tell? For instance, what do you think of my friend over here? Attractive? Dark-closet-fun-time material?"

God up above, he's never asked for anything in his entire life but please, _please_ kill him now.

The redhead is grinning exactly how he had across the circle in that damn room at that damn party as his eyes fall on Roxas. Slender eyebrows raise, clearly giving him a once over. God, why is he incapable of saying anything when Axel is looking at him like that? Except…

"He's cute. Maybe a little young for my taste, but very cute."

"Thanks, man. You know, I-"

Hayner and Axel are exchanging pleasantries, laughing about something awful Hayner just said, and shaking hands. And now Axel is walking away, and Roxas feels like his stomach has dropped out of his ass. Hayner shoots him a look, eyebrows knit together with concern. "Dude, what's wrong? That-"

"He doesn't remember anything."

"What? What do you mean?" Hayner sits forward, leaning toward Roxas.

"He doesn't remember me or…" he stops himself from looking at Axel laughing with his friends across the room and instead resigns himself to resting his cheek against the table.

"Rox," Hayner drags his chair closer, ducking his head slightly to try to meet Roxas' eyes. "Rox, I thought you said nothing happened."

"Yeah…well…"

"Shit, Rox, did…" his voice drops to a whisper, "did he touch you? Do I need to get the doll?"

Roxas groans against the tabletop. He knows Hayner is just trying to help but God he can be so stupid. Bad timing. "No, nothing like that. I get that he was drunk but…I dunno, I didn't realize he'd pretty much blacked out." He sits up, eyes focused on anything but Axel.

"You sure he doesn't remember?"

"If you were suddenly faced with a person you'd dry humped in a closet, would you acknowledge them?"

Hayner pauses thoughtfully.

"Was it intense?"

"Hayner."

"I'm just asking, sheesh," he holds up his hands in surrender before flopping back into his chair. "But yeah, I would. Want me to beat him up?"

"No."

"Right, you want to do all the beating with regards to him."

Hayner knows Roxas well enough to know when to back down. Either that, or Roxas' glare is much more intimidating than he thought.

"I meant that in the most Fight Club way possible, I swear." Hayner smiles and Roxas cracks a half smile even though everything in his mind is screaming at him to throttle the man across the room until he remembers.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just leave."

"Right behind you."

Roxas slings his bag over his shoulder heads toward the door with Hayner in tow, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at Axel, who he can hear order a round of shots for his bandmates, and decides that he is definitely giving up drinking.

**xxx**

Sora is pissed.

This is significant because Sora, bright, bubbly, loved-by-all Sora, is never pissed. Sora does not possess an angry bone in his body. Hell, he doesn't even _piss_. If anything, a man of Sora's delicate sensibility would tinkle. Not that Roxas would ever say that to his twin, but there it is.

So when Roxas unlocks the front door of their apartment a little before 2am and is promptly thrown against a wall, hands pinning his shoulders and an identical set of blue eyes glaring into his own, he's taken aback.

"And what sort of time do you call this, Roxas?" Sora has his face set in a grimace, and Roxas wishes he could take him more seriously, but it's not threatening. It's adorable.

"Sorry, I was out studying. I was trying to be quiet," he shifts his shoulders uncomfortably against the wall, reaching a hand up and pushing gently against Sora's forearms. Which won't budge.

"Bullcrap, Roxas, I know you were at Oblivion again. Riku saw you go in around nine. You don't need to _lie_ to me," he lets go then, taking a step back with a resigned sigh. "I worry about you, you know."

Riku is going to get a swift kick in the ass. "I know. There's just a band I like that was playing and I thought I could study before they started their set."

Sora fumbles with the drawstring on his pajama bottoms. And Roxas knows his brother too well not to know what's coming next.

"Sora, I'm okay, really…"

"But why didn't you _tell_ me? About the guy at the party?" He's an adult and clearly isn't going to cry, but Roxas sees the hurt in his eyes and it destroys him, even though this is completely stupid.

"It's not anything to tell. I just…I was at a party and-"

"Without me."

Wait. "I'm sorry. Hold on. Sora, are you mad that I didn't go with you?"

He's silent, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Well…not _exactly…_ "

"Are you serious? I didn't even _want_ to go! Hayner pretty much threw me in the damn car!"

"You could have texted or something."

Jesus, this is so stupid. Roxas throws his head back, sighing in exasperation at the ceiling. "I'm going to bed."

"Were you safe, at least?"

Roxas is vaguely aware that he yelped his brother's name. Vaguely. "Did you _really_ just ask me that?!"

"Roxas, protection is never anything to scoff at. And I heard you didn't even know the guy! What if he had something? What would you do then?" Sora follows him to the door of his room, and Roxas is trying harder than anything to block out what his brother is saying. "What if he had friggin' herpes or something?!"

"Sora!" Roxas slams his hands on either side of his doorframe, knowing he's probably blushing something fierce because he's never heard his brother say herpes ever and it just seems so fucking _wrong_. "We did not have sex. There was no gangbang or orgy or any of the wild stories that everyone is spreading around. I had a few drinks. I kissed a guy in a closet during a game of spin the bottle. I came home. It's not the crisis you're imagining, I promise!"

"I just get _worried_ because you're my little brother and-"

"You are _one minute_ older than me!"

"And apparently that makes a difference because you get carried away and can totally act out sometimes."

He feels his eye twitch. "Sora."

"Yes, Roxas?"

"Do I have to remind you of the little mud wrestling fiasco from last summer?"

The color instantly drains from Sora's face. "Rox, we said we weren't ever going to talk about that again…"

"Oh, but I have pictures-"

"Stop it!" Sora claps his hands over his ears, shaking his head wildly.

"Now you're just being immature!"

"At least I wasn't hooking up with some hooligan in a closet!" Sora yells back in a huff, taking a step closer to his brother.

"I don't even want to hear _that_ coming from you! How far exactly did you get your tongue down Riku's throat before you realized it was _Riku_?"

"He apologized for that! We were both out of sorts, and the whole thing was just a giant accident!"

Roxas hits his forehead against his doorframe and wills himself to breathe because he really he shouldn't have brought that up, but _really_. He doesn't need to hear this from his brother. "Sora, it was a stupid, drunken bout of misguided judgment. I'm fine." He shoots his twin a look, trying so hard to make his smile convincing. "Pweeaase?"

The corner of Sora's lips quirks upward as he scratches the back of his head. Nervous. Or relieved. "Sorry…Riku made it sound kinda…bad."

Yup, Riku is getting his ass kicked. "Don't listen to him. I'll tell you all the gruesome details from now on, okay?"

"'Kay," Sora pats his brother on the head before shoving it lightly. "Now go sleep, you look like crap."

"Thanks." And just like that, Roxas is as tired as he knows he should have been hours ago. The sight of his bed is heaven.

"Rox?"

"Hm?"

"Is he cute?"

"Good _night_ , Sora!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm going to admit something: I'm way too excited that I'm actually writing something and UGH it's going well...I hope. I really am having too much fun writing this, I hope you all like it, reviews are always appreciated.  
> I love you all~
> 
> Cheers,  
> Stripes


	3. Singed

As much as he hates to admit it, Roxas dreads this class.  Partly because of the grades he’s been pulling.  Mainly because the grad student teaching it is a huge dick.

He’s heard a rumor that Zexion started off as a pre-med student, fell in love, and switched his major to literature.  Roxas really isn’t sure how accurate this is because Zexion seems cold and calculating and devoid of much human emotion.  But he loves his books, and so maybe he’s capable of loving something human.  Maybe.

One thing is certain: Zexion does not love Roxas’ writing.  Roxas (as well as much of his class) has never managed to get above a C on any paper he’s written this semester.  Which, really, is kind of driving Roxas into depression because there’s no way he’s _this_ bad at analyzing literature.  English is his major, and three years of maintaining a spot on the honor roll can’t count for absolutely nothing.  He’s careful not to think the many expletives he wants to throw at Zexion too loudly because when those cool eyes meet his, Roxas swears he can read minds.  He wouldn’t put it past him. 

He’s especially dreading getting his most recent assignment back, considering it was supposed to be a personal piece.   Roxas is half way convinced that Zexion will use his newly acquired information to break each of his students into microscopic pieces that even the most highly regarded therapist couldn’t reassemble. 

Maybe he’s too pessimistic.  Maybe this time-

“You’re remarkably good at maintaining mediocre marks.”  A pale hand slides the sheets of paper across Roxas’ desk.

“Nice alliteration,” he mumbles, shoving yet another C paper into his bag before he can angst over it further.

“Not particularly,” Zexion steps away, continuing to hand back broken dreams.  Roxas catches himself glaring and instead focuses very intently on the chipped corner of his desk. 

He hears his neighbor’s head hit his desk, a low groan muffled against the wood as their sadistic grad student tucks a strand of slate blue hair behind his ear and leans against his desk at the front of the room.  Another life ruined.  All in a day’s work for Zexion.

“Since not many of you grasped the concept of this assignment, I’m going to give you another month to rework it.”

Roxas’ eyes snap up at that.

“That being said, this paper is going to count for a third of your overall grade.   Perhaps with this extension, a few of you may be able to turn in something that isn’t complete garbage.”

Ah, there it is.

“Thursday the 28th, I expect something tolerable.  Remember, this is a personal piece.  It’s about you.  Make me interested in _you_ ,” he checks his watch with a small sigh, “because right now you’re all boring me to death.  See you Tuesday.”

The general consensus at the end of Zexion’s class is to run as fast and far as possible so he will never see you cry.  Not that Roxas has ever actually cried because of Zexion being a total asshole or ruining his chances of graduating with honors.  No, definitely not. 

When he stands, Zexion is staring at him and he feels himself pale.  Stupid autonomic reflexes. 

“Roxas, may I speak with you?  It’s about your paper.”

Well, shit.  “I’ll rework it.”

“Yours, surprisingly, wasn’t horrible,” Zexion settles back against the desk and straightens the lapels of his blazer.  Stupid fucking hipster in his stupid skinny jeans and blazer and t-shirt that is so unironic in its irony that it becomes ironic.  “You have a talent for writing, but I think that you need to narrow your idea to something a bit more significant.”

This is definitely uncomfortable.  Mostly because Roxas was under the impression that his twin having a nearly fatal asthma attack in the third grade _was_ significant.  “That incident kind of had a major impact on…” On what?  How overly protective he is of his brother?  How much he shoves down how afraid he is of everything he can’t control?  How much he acted out as a teenager?  All the sarcasm and pessimism?  “…on me and how I just am.  I guess.”

“Instead of guessing, why don’t you pick something you know.”

“But I do-“

“That happened to your brother, and yes it may have affected you in some way, but I’m not interested in that.  I’m interested in something that happened to _you_.”

He very much wants to strangle Zexion right now.  So much so, in fact, that he can feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands.  “I’m not sure I have anything on that level…”

“Then that is your challenge.  Go create an experience,” he stands, picking up his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“With all due respect, I don’t think that’s how life works.” 

“Roxas,” Zexion meets his eyes evenly, “you have the cynicism of someone who has worked retail, but aside from a few unpleasant encounters in life, hasn’t dealt with any serious shit, as it were.  My humble suggestion is to either get yourself laid and start fresh with renewed optimism, or become celibate and understand what true frustration and longing is.”

He has no words.  All of the blood in his body has rushed to his face and has obviously rendered him incapable of speech because he can’t stop staring and opening and closing his mouth like a fish.  Zexion ignores Roxas’ attempts to communicate his abject horror and walks to the door of the room.

“But you only gave us a month.”

Zexion pauses, glancing over his shoulder at the blond.  “Then I suggest you get started.”

**xxx**

Roxas sometimes wishes he could shoot lasers out of his eyes.  Granted, he would definitely be classified as a super-villain if he could because it would really be too tempting to obliterate anyone who pissed him off.  Even without lasers, he hopes Riku can feel his eyes attempting to burn a hole in the back of his head.  He’s sure he could find a reason why all of this was Riku’s fault.  The line, Zexion, the red haired jackass with gorgeous eyes.  The asshole also didn’t let him cut in line. 

When he finally gets to counter to place his order (venti ice coffee, no room, no sweetener, splash of soy), his irritation with everything and everyone has reached something of a critical mass.  So, of course, Riku has to be standing next to him as he waits for his drink.

“You have a break?”

“Obviously.”

Riku lets out a little huff, ripping at the paper covering his straw.  “Sora and I are getting lunch in half an hour.  If you want to join us.”

“Sora has class all afternoon.”

“He’s skipping bio.”

If Riku’s reaction is any indication, Roxas’ eyes are probably red and he’s glowing like some leveled up video game character.  “That’s his worst subject.  It’s probably the only class he really needs to go to.”

“Well, he’s not going today.”

Roxas’ eyes narrow at Riku as he picks up a straw from the condiment bar.  “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Jesus, Roxas.  I’m tutoring him,” Riku rubs the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched.

 “Sora didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s not like you tell him everything.”

“Riku, venti zen tea lemonade!”

Riku steps forward, taking his drink from the counter and regarding Roxas coolly.  “Did you want to eat with us or not?”

“I’ll pass.  I don’t want to interfere with you ogling my brother,” he tilts his head to the side, enjoying Riku looking so damn embarrassed. 

“That’s not-“

“Don’t bullshit me, Riku.”  Roxas grabs his drink as soon as his name is called, hissing in the other’s ear as he makes his way to the door,  “And if you touch my brother I will _break_ you.”

Riku’s hand closes around Roxas’ wrist as soon as he makes it out the door.  Wrenching himself free, Roxas swats the hand away, taking a step closer to Riku.  “Just because Sora hasn’t figured it out yet doesn’t mean that I haven’t.”

“Sora can have exactly what he wants.  He wants a loyal friend-“

“Yeah, not someone who’s trying to constantly get into his pants!”

“-And I’m always there for him.  And I always will be.”

Riku looks too damn smug for his own good, which really just lights Roxas’ short fuse.  “You’re not good enough for my brother.”

“Yeah, and neither are you.”

Roxas opens his mouth to say something.  Or shout something.  Or to simply have it open as he pounds Riku’s face into the concrete, except a hand clamps over his mouth before he’s able to get any closer to the other.  The anger bubbling behind Riku’s eyes is extinguished almost immediately as Roxas is pulled against another body, hand still firmly in place over his mouth and another catching him across the chest. 

“Hey Kairi.”

“Roxas, we all know how fond of Riku you are, but you really shouldn’t go around yelling about it in the middle of the food court,” he feels more than hears Kairi laugh against his back.  “You boys having a nice chat?”

“Of course,” Riku’s smile is a little strained, but it’s there.  “Roxas and I always have nice things to talk about.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kairi’s grip on Roxas doesn’t let up, and he’s starting to feel claustrophobic and is definitely not getting enough oxygen right now.  “Well, I need to borrow him to proof read one of my papers, so you guys can finish this up later, okay?”

“No problem.  I have to meet Sora anyway,” Riku smirks at Roxas, stabbing his straw into the lid with a bit too much force.  “Have fun, you two.”

Kairi doesn’t let go until Riku is a good 50 feet away.

“You know, there are more effective ways of getting someone to shut up,” Roxas rubs the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“Yeah, not with you.  Sheesh, it’s crazy how much sexual tension there is between the two of you.”  When Roxas stares incredulously, the redhead rolls her eyes.  “That was a joke.  You, my friend, need to learn to take a joke.”

“It wasn’t very funny,” he straightens his hoodie before shoving his hands in the pockets. 

“Actually, it was,” Kairi stops in front of Roxas, narrowing her eyes slightly.  “Something’s bothering you.”

“Yeah.  Riku.”

“No…no, no, it’s something else.”  She cranes her neck, carefully scrutinizing his face. 

“Class was awful, it’s seriously not a big thing.”

Her face splits in a grin, a manicured nail nearly stabbing him in the nose.  “You’re still butthurt that Axel doesn’t know you exist!”

“I am not _butthurt_ , Kairi!” Roxas catches himself raising his voice and pointedly ignores the stares he’s attracting.  He quickly grabs Kairi’s arm, tugging her after him.  “How do you even know about-“

“About Axel or about how the two of you were hooking up in a closet?”

Roxas stops, spinning to face his grinning friend.  “We weren’t…” his words die away as Kairi holds up her phone, an image proudly displaying on the screen.  He sees blond and red and dark and lips and _oh God, there is no way he looked that desperate_. 

Perhaps ‘friend’ is too strong a word.  He thinks that ‘arch nemesis’ or ‘life ruiner’ might be a bit more accurate at this point.

Her smile only grows, pulling her phone away from Roxas’ hands ready to destroy the small device.  “You were saying?”

“Kairi, where did you get that?”

“A girl has her ways,” Kairi pockets the phone, crossing her arms over her chest.  “You lucky bastard.”

Roxas knows he’s blushing, fingers itching to grab Kairi’s phone.  “What, because I kissed some guy in a closet?  I’m _gay_ , Kairi.  I worked for years to come out of the closet, not to get dragged back in by a guy at a party.”

“I’d say under these circumstances, you should be happier about going back in there for ten minutes,” she loops his arm with hers, walking them toward a cluster of tables.  “Especially given who he is.”

This gives Roxas pause as he pulls his chair out.  “I’m not sure I follow.”  But now he’s thinking about it, and he was under the impression that even those in his circle who had heard about his lapse in judgment didn’t know who it was.  Even Hayner, who had actually _met_ Axel didn’t know his name, probably.  But he’s probably over thinking everything with regards to Kairi because she has become his nemesis.  “What do you mean ‘who he is’?”

“Really?” Kairi tilts her head to the side, the corner of her mouth quirking with some hidden feminine secret.  “The mysterious, devilishly handsome redhead who lurks the campus?  Who is a horrific flirt, but never dates?  Or is it that he dates, but never flirts.  Either way, he’s an enigma,” she waggles her eyebrows at Roxas before rolling her eyes.  “Plus, if you didn’t notice, he’s kinda hot.”

“Oh, because _that_ makes me feel _infinitely_ better about this whole thing, Kairi,” Roxas ducks his head to rummage through his laptop bag, pointedly trying to cover his blush because this keeps getting fucking _worse_ and his autonomic reflexes are pissing him off today.

“I didn’t even know he liked guys.”

Roxas stares at the pen he managed to fish out of his bag.  “Fantastic.”

“Oh,” Kairi slides her chair closer to Roxas’.  “Oh, no.  No, I was just saying that I wasn’t sure.  I’ve never even met him.  I just have a few friends who…”  She’s just sort of staring at Roxas who is clearly fascinated by the green pen in his hand.  “I’m not helping.”

 “Do you have your paper?”

“Rox, I could be totally wrong, I swear.  Forget I said anything,” she’s looking at him, a small crease between her eyebrows. 

“No, it’s fine.  It was just…random.  And I was drunk.  Like, insanely drunk.”  Roxas manages a small smile, trying harder to convince himself than Kairi with his lies.  Because, really, it shouldn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Axel kissed him first or that he said he was cute.  It’s not important that for the first time in years he’s felt wanted, even if it was in a drunken haze, even if it was fast and sloppy in a closet.  No, definitely not.

Kairi winces at the hash green slashes that start to litter her paper under Roxas’ pen.

**xxx**

Why did he come back?  Really, he must have a severe case of masochism because this is absolute torture. 

Axel is sitting at the bar and openly watching him, likely because Hayner is a total dumbshit and had to pull that stunt the other night.  So Roxas opts to legitimately focus on his homework, scribbling notes in the margins of his notebook and double checking everything for the lab he should have written up a week ago.  It takes him a few minutes to realize that someone is standing over him.

“Can I help you?” he doesn’t even bother looking up because he knows it’s _him_.

“Did you seriously come to a bar to do,” Axel pauses, lifting the cover of the text book on the table, “chemistry?  Really?”

“This is technically a lounge.” 

“And how does that make it any better?” he pulls up a chair at the table, propping his chin on the backs of his hands, elbows resting on the tabletop. 

“It’s peaceful.”

“Blondie, you are so full of shit it’s coming out your ears.”  Roxas knows Axel is smiling and so he is doing everything in his power to not look at him.

Which fails.

He looks up from his notebook.  “Again, can I help you?”

Axel doesn’t miss a beat, lips forming an almost delicate smirk.  “How the hell did you get in here?”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You look like you just hit puberty, short stuff,” the smile doesn’t fade.

Roxas stares at him for a moment before turning back to his homework.  “You know, just because you are of an abnormally large stature does not mean that I’m in middle school,” blue eyes dart up to meet green.  “I’m 22.”

_“Really?”_

Axel could at least have the decency to not sound so damn surprised.  “It’s a number you’re probably not familiar with since it involves two digits.”

“I’ve actually managed to learn one a year since my birth,” he props his chin in the palm of his hand.  “I can count all the way to 26 now.”

“My, what a clever boy you are.  Your parents must be thrilled.”

“You know, I didn’t mean to offend you or whatever.  Just sayin’.”

Roxas knows Axel is watching him as he scribbles complete gibberish in his notebook.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”  Good, scare him off.  Because obviously throwing himself at the redhead wasn’t at all memorable. 

“That equation is wrong, by the way.”

He closes his notebook, hand slamming against the cover.  “I’m trying to study, if you don’t mind.”

“And I’m just trying to help,” Axel reaches forward, gently lifting the cover of the notebook regardless of how hard Roxas is glaring at him.  As he rifles through pages of notes, Roxas is finally able to make out the tattoo running down the inside of his right forearm.  They’re symbols he recognizes from old star charts he saw in astronomy, one for each of the planets delicately inked in a perfect line over his pale skin.  Even Pluto is there just below the crook of his elbow, which makes his frown a little less severe.  “See, right here, you have one more hydrogen on this side.”

“Oh,” Roxas pulls his eyes away from Axel’s tattoo and back to his notebook, “right.  Well, thanks.” He quickly re-balances the equation, noticing that Axel has yet to move and is still just _watching_ him.  “You’re still here.”

“Should I not be?”

“Aren’t you in a band that should be entertaining the masses?” Roxas glances up when Axel lets out a small laugh.

“Not tonight.  Larx had a date, so it’s just me, drowning my sorrows in cheap booze,” his lips quirked upward, resting his chin heavily in his palm with a dramatic sigh.  “The woes of being an artist.”

Roxas’ pencil stops for a fraction of a second against his notebook.  “Ah, so you’re an artist.”

Axel reaches toward Roxas’ mostly drained glass, scrutinizing its contents.  “Probably not, but I think that’s the most appropriate thing to call yourself when no one appreciates your work.  Then you can be starving, too, and it makes you sort of edgy.”  When Roxas looks up, Axel is positively grinning at him, “As tiny as that is, that’s a smile.  Look at you, you are human after all.  I was starting to get worried.”

“And why is that?” He’s trying very hard to stop the little smile he knows is trying to quirk his lips further.

“You weren’t laughing at any of my jokes, and I happen to have it on good authority that I’m hilarious.”

“Do you.”

“I do.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Roxas returns his eyes to his work because that smile is really almost too much.

“I took the liberty to answer it anyway.”  Axel sets the glass back down, drumming his fingers on the table, “So what’s your story?”

“I don’t have one.”  He keeps his eyes down, not comprehending anything he’s writing.

“That can’t be true.  So, what, you’re 22, I’m guessing you’re in your last year.  Definitely not a science major because that is homework for a lower level chemistry class.  Unless you switched recently,” Roxas glances up, and Axel makes a face when he does, “nah, that’s not it.  Humanities probably.  Maybe psych.  I would say education, but…kids, y’know?”

Roxas shakes his head, a hint of indignation in his voice.  “I might be great with kids.”

“And I might be Freddie Mercury, but we wouldn’t be talking here, now would we?”

“I would be in awe if you were.”  He knows Axel is watching him, that goofy, cocky smirk a permanent fixture on his lips, and he can feel himself start to flush.  Which he hates himself for and wills away immediately.  “My brother is great with kids.”

“Older or younger brother?”

“Twin.”

“Is he as talkative as you are?”

Axel’s smile makes Roxas’ chest ache for a fraction of a second and he regrets looking up.  “Just a little more.  If you can imagine such a thing.  He wants to teach little kids how to finger paint and make good choices about vegetables.”

“A noble career path.”  The redhead rests his cheek against his knuckles, “But you’re dodging the question.  I asked about you.”

Roxas rests his pencil against the page in front of him, “You know, it’s rude to ask for personal information without even introducing yourself to a person.”

Axel chuckles in his throat, extending a hand out to the blond.  “The name’s Axel.”

He takes the hand with a small smile, “Roxas.”

“Roxas,” Axel repeats to himself, “I’ll remember that.  A pleasure to meet you.  Officially.”

The air feels much cooler against the palm of his hand once Axel takes his back, and Roxas quickly picks up his pencil again before he can think too hard about what that means. 

“Hey, Ax!”

They both look up at the blond crossing the room, grin spread painfully big across his face.  “Dem, hey,” Axel gestures him over, nodding his chin at Roxas, “this is Roxas.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.  I’m Demyx,” he beams before turning back to the redhead.  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.  Dude, I got tickets.”

“Shut the fuck up, you did not.”

“I did,” Demyx holds out a pair of tickets, and Roxas couldn’t try to read the name on them if he wanted to with the way that the other is flinging them about in excitement.  “It took six hours, but we got ‘em!”

“And to think I doubted you,” Axel grabs the tickets out of Demyx’s hand, holding them up to the light.  “When does it start?”

“Starts at nine,” he takes his ticket back, tucking it into his pocket, “should get going.”

Axel turns to Roxas, who manages a bored smile.  “Well, it was lovely making your acquaintance, Roxas.”

He nods, “And yours.”

Standing up, the redhead gives a little salute to Roxas, “We’ll continue this later, Blondie.”

“Will we?”

“Of course, you’ll be here tomorrow night,” he laughs, slinging an arm over Demyx’s shoulders.

Roxas feels a laugh starting at the back of his throat.  “How are you so sure?”

Axel’s eyes are too damn green to be real, face split in a shit-eating grin.  “Because I’m irresistible.” 

And then he’s gone, just like that.  And just like that, Roxas lets that little spark of hope extinguish itself because it’s too easy for people to walk away from him, isn’t it?  Granted, he doesn’t even know the guy.  They just made out and talked a little, big deal.  He’s starting to wonder if the whole making out bit even happened and he’s just deluded himself into thinking it did.

But the talking was…nice.  Sort of.  Axel is kind of an arrogant ass, but he _is_ nice.  Sort of.  Roxas frowns to himself, flipping through several songs on his iPod and wondering at exactly what point in his little internal monologue he’d started walking home.  He’s being stupid, he knows he is.  Didn’t he start this little stalking endeavor to get Axel’s attention?  And now that he’s got it he’s floundering because, as much as he’d wanted it, he never expected to get it.  He’s too pessimistic to attract someone so bright.  Little dusty moth drawn straight into the flames.  It doesn’t work the other way around.  He’s not like Sora.

He feels that familiar cold ache spreading through his chest with the first few seconds of the song assaulting his ears, and quickly fumbles for his iPod.  That song should have been deleted years ago.  Roxas looks down at the small screen, the words _Me vs Maradona vs Elvis_ scrolling in an endless pixilated loop, thumb hovering to skip.  And it should be an easy thing to tap the screen, to get the slow, beautiful chords to stop echoing in his head, but it’s not.  It’s a reminder of _him_ and that Roxas wasn’t, isn’t, good enough and will never be.  So how could Roxas have anything with _him_ or anyone, let alone Axel.  And this thing with Axel isn’t even a _thing_.  He’s out of reach, gorgeous smile taunting him. 

But Axel had smiled at Roxas.  That tiny thought spurs him to change the song, the heavy weight in his chest lifting slightly at some punk song from the days of yore.  Pulling his hoodie tighter around himself, he shoves his hands in his pockets, fingers feeling numb against the mp3 player.  Maybe he should get a thicker jacket.  Or maybe he should stop thinking entirely. 

His apartment is nestled at the back of campus housing, likely to keep the drunken upperclassmen as far away from civilization as possible.  Roxas had been perfectly content to remain in the dorms closer to the majority of campus, but Sora insisted that he needed a kitchen.  The unfortunate side effect of a kitchen is the steady influx of friends wanting to come over for dinner.  Namely Riku.  Even though, as Roxas likes to point out at any given opportunity, Riku lives across the hall and has his own damn kitchen.  

Roxas unlocks his door, throwing himself against it unceremoniously as he walks in.  “Sora, did you eat already?” he calls into the apartment, detangling himself from his laptop bag.

“Sorta,” Sora replies softly, half whisper-shouting.

Roxas looks up from kicking off his shoes, frown tugging at his face.  Sora smiles at him from his spot at the corner of the couch, Riku sprawled out, asleep, head resting in Sora’s lap.  The blond resists the urge to yell and instead speaks just slightly louder than is necessary, “What do you mean ‘sorta’?  Did you guys make dinner?”

“We made cookies,” his twin beams, gesturing to a plate of a half dozen cookies on the coffee table.  Roxas catches the way Sora’s hand falls to Riku’s hair, delicately taking up a half-finished braid.

“You mean we _tried_ to make cookies,” Riku slurs against Sora’s thigh, eyes cracking a fraction to shoot a sleepy glare at Roxas.  “Sora kept eating the dough.”

The brunet pulls at the long strands of hair in his hand, earning himself a growl from Riku, “We succeeded in making _some_ cookies.  You know better than to trust me with dough.”

“Yeah, well you’re turning awfully doughy yourself,” Riku shifts on the couch, reaching out and poking at Sora’s stomach.  “You should go work for Pillsbury.  You’d make a good spokesperson.” 

“You’re so much nicer when you’re sleeping!” Sora yelps. 

Roxas watches as his brother descends into a fit of giggles, Riku’s thin fingers dancing over his stomach, tickling anything they can reach.  And he’s never resented Sora for being charming and adorable, but he’s jealous of the look of absolute reverence Riku is giving him.  Not that he’s getting that look from Riku, because _oh God ew Riku_ , but that someone is that in love with him.  Riku has always loved, been _in_ love, with Sora and he wonders what’s wrong with him that he’s never seen that level of devotion.  They’re twins for fuck’s sake.  So what if Sora is sweet and kind and patient.  So what if Roxas is abrasive and stoic and has the worst case of post-teen angst the world has ever seen.

Okay, so that probably does make a difference. 

Clearing his throat, Roxas pads into the kitchen, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the display on the couch.  He huffs a little, going through the contents of the refrigerator and thinking that this is all obviously Axel’s fault.  He used to be able to fume in silence, content in his discontent to be forever alone.  Then Axel had to show up and shove his tongue down his throat and, even worse, go out of his way and be _nice_ to Roxas.  Then again, Hayner took him to the party in the first place.  Hayner was also an obnoxious asshole and got Axel’s attention.  Wingman, indeed.

Sora slides into Roxas’ space bubble, grimacing at him in the best way he can.  “You’re doing it.”

“Am not.” The blond grabs a bag of hot dogs from the fridge before thinking better of it and throwing them back in. 

Shutting the refrigerator door, Sora grabs Roxas’ cheeks, “You are.  You’re grumpy cat-ing.” He pushes up the corners of his twin’s mouth, snorting at the apparently ridiculous face he’s created. 

“It’s called a ‘bitch face’, Sora,” Riku smirks and takes a step into the kitchen.  When Roxas starts to retaliate, Riku shoves a cookie into his mouth.

Sora looks thoughtful for a moment, taking the cookie Riku hands him and nibbling on it.  “Do I have a bitch face?”

“Not all the time.”  Riku ruffles Sora’s hair before pushing past Roxas to rummage through the fridge.  “So what are we eating?”

“I can make spaghetti or something, I dunno.  You’re on your own for calling me fat,” the brunet nudges Riku out of the way, sharing a grin with Roxas. 

“But Sora, your spaghetti is so delicious,” Roxas hears Riku’s voice take on that pouty tone he knows Sora can’t resist and he decides he doesn’t need to watch this.  And thinks that Riku is probably doing this on purpose.  Riku has Sora trapped between himself and the counter, arms ready to encircle the smaller boy, when Roxas walks back into the living room.  “Please please _please_ let me have some!”

“You called me fat, you ass!”

“If anything I said you were squishy!”

A spastic laugh erupts from the kitchen as Roxas plops firmly on the couch, eyes focusing on the far wall and trying to block out the banter behind him. 

“Pleeeeease?”

“Fine!” he can hear Sora laughing as he reaches for one of his books stacked at the edge of the couch, flipping pages to find his bookmark.  “But get out.  You’re a road hazard!”

Riku materializes in Roxas’ peripheral vision, lowering himself gracefully onto the far corner of the couch.  He knows he’s watching him, elbow propped up on the armrest, bright eyes bored and scrutinizing.  “What are you reading?”

“Words.”

He hears a dull _thunk_ as Riku’s head rolls back against the wall.  “Alright then, Hamlet.  I’m just trying to make conversation, sue me.”

“You don’t have to try.  We both know we’re entirely uninterested with each other,” Roxas turns the page, ignoring the fact that he hasn’t actually read a damn thing since he opened his book.   

“I hear a distinct lack of happy-male-bonding-time coming from my living room!” Sora’s voice rings like a bell through the awkward silence.

As much as Roxas currently is all out of the few shits he has to spare on Riku, he can’t help but humor his brother.  A little.  He flashes the book cover at Riku with a little shrug, “ _Anna Karenina._ ” 

“My, you must be in a happy mood then,” Riku shifts on the couch, resting a foot on the coffee table.  “Good thing we don’t live near any trains.”

All out of shits.  “You would definitely be in danger.  I can get a little pushy around trains.”

“Jesus, Rox, what crawled up your butt and died?”

“Must be you, seeing as you have your head so far up Sora’s ass.  One of those freaky twin things, I guess.” 

Roxas allows the smallest grin to grace his lips as Riku’s hair emphasizes the flush on his face.  He opens his mouth to say something, and Roxas wants him to flip out.  He wants Sora to see that his precious Riku isn’t perfect, that he has a temper despite his cool and collected exterior.  And he almost hates himself for it. 

“Aggression!” Sora appears on the other side of the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, tomato sauce covered spoon in one hand.  Roxas is glad that he isn’t the only one who shrinks back against the couch.  “Did I hear an unnaturally large amount of animosity from this couch?  Because bitchy boys don’t get spaghetti.”  With a flourish, Sora brandishes the spoon, pointing it between the two boys on the couch.  “Am I understood?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Sora.”

“Good,” he smiles and shuffles back into the kitchen, demeanor instantly bright again.  Roxas fears for his future students. 

Riku seems to be thinking the same thing as he relaxes against the cushions.  “He’s going to be one of _those_ teachers.”

“The kind that dresses up to teach lessons and then turns around and duct tapes kids to the wall if they act out?  Yeah, definitely.”  He runs his thumb along the spine of his book.  He’s really starting to hate all of these silences where he doesn’t have anything to occupy his mind.  His nail snags on the edge of the worn cover, feeling something in him drop like a stone. 

“Is it that guy?”

It takes Roxas a moment to realize Riku is talking to him.  It takes another for him to realize he’s talking about Axel.  “It’s nothing.”

“Uh huh.  Clearly.”  Riku’s eyes are on him, and he very much wishes that he would stop being so observant and just ignore Roxas like he usually does.  “What’s he like?”

“Like you even care.”

“Try me.”

“Male.”

“Don’t be a shit.”

Roxas takes a deep breath and closes his book for what feels like the hundredth time.  “Out of my league.  Gorgeous rock god, you know the type.”

Riku snorts, running a hand through his hair.  “Well, okay then.  What’s his name?”

“No.”

“What, why not?”

He sighs again, regretting this entire conversation to begin with.  “Axel.”  Roxas feels his face heat up at the name, the two little syllables that, he’s realizing, he’s never actually said out loud. 

“…Are you fucking kidding me?”  Riku’s eyebrows knit together and his mouth is just a little more open than it should be.  Roxas would probably laugh if he wasn’t getting progressively more frustrated by the second.

“Do you _know_ him?  Am I missing something?”

“No.  Not at all.”

“Then why are y-“

“Why don’t you just go for it?” he brushes a few bright strands of hair from his eyes, turning his head to watch Sora in the kitchen.

“I really don’t think I should be taking dating advice from you,” the blond crosses his arms over his chest.  Great, even his fucked-up-lack-of love life is too boring for Riku. 

“Why not?”

“We’re in the same boat,” Roxas watches as Sora walks back into the living room, blowing on some tomato sauce in a spoon.  His brother places a knee on the couch next to Riku, giving the sauce a final puff of air before holding it out for the other to try it.  He sees the grin spread across Sora’s face when Riku nods his head enthusiastically, giving himself a little victory whoop and rushing back into the kitchen.

Turning his head slowly to Roxas, Riku lets a lazy smile appear on his lips with a shrug. “I’ve got spaghetti.  What do you have?”  
  
What he hates most is when Riku is right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pester me on the internet.   
> [my tumblr](http://crimson-dynamo.tumblr.com) | [leather and stripes on tumblr](http://leatherandstripes.tumblr.com)


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